


those days are here, and my heart is waiting

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, benarmie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Armitage has finally landed a date with his long-time friend Ben, and he's not about to miss it for anything.Certainlynot because of Brendol, no matter what his father might try to do to him.





	those days are here, and my heart is waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Woops, this ended up a lot longer than I thought. I'm not so confident in it but? Might as well put it out there. Take all medical accuracy with a grain of salt as usual. 
> 
> Done for Bad Things Happen Bingo, for the prompt "broken ribs."

Armitage has been waiting for Ben Solo to ask him out for years.

They’d been friends for just as long as he’d carried the crush secretly inside him. Truth be told, Armitage had long made peace with a platonic relationship, been content to take his feelings to the grave—or graduation, whichever came first—but to his surprise, it turned out Ben had been long harboring similar feelings, fearing rejection all this time.

In retrospect it seems a bit silly that they’ve both waited so long, too afraid of what the other would say. Like playing a tight-lipped game of chicken. Armitage remembers worrying about what would happen to _them_ if he ever acknowledged his feelings, whether it would ruin the relationship they already had. But now that it’s all out in the open, and they’ve got a day set for their date—Friday at 5pm, as circled in red in Armitage’s planner—he feels far happier.

At least now he has something to look forward to.

* * *

When a woefully slim envelope from Cambridge arrives for him, Armitage knows it’s not good news. He considers hiding it for a moment, tucking it in one of his father’s rarely-used books or slipping it in the trash, but keeping anything from Brendol has never resulted in a decrease in punishment—merely a delay. So when he hears his father open the door Armitage rises from his seat on the piano bench and walks briskly into the foyer, opened envelope in hand.

Brendol reads only the first line before his lower lip curls in disgust. Armitage looks down as his father’s ruddy pallor deepens into purple anger, knowing what must come next. The letter is thrust back into his hands, and he nearly cuts his palm on the crisp paper as he clutches it tight.

His father had stopped hitting him in the face years ago, now defaulting to less physical punishments when Armitage fails. But that’s not to say there aren’t moments when he’s left at the mercy of his father’s hands.

“A word, Armitage. Now.”

Brendol clamps his palm on the back of his neck, thick fingers digging into the sides of Armitage’s throat as he marches him down the hallway and into his office. It’s a familiar position—his father likes to hold him like a subservient cur—but he’s not expecting Brendol to shove him forward with unbalancing force as soon as the door to the study shuts behind them.

Armitage catches himself on the edge of his father’s desk, only for his hands to slip on the lacquer while grasping for purchase and slide forward. He chokes and accidentally bites into his lip as his lower chest slams _hard_ against the edge.

The over-detailed carvings bordering the desk dig harshly into his ribs and and send a sharp pain jarring through his body so hard his vision goes dizzy. The breath knocks from his lungs and his knees wobble, unable to keep him from collapsing onto the floor.

Brendol mutters something under his breath from where he stands leering over him, but Armitage can’t make out anything he says above the harsh sounds of his own coughing. Each inhale hurts as he struggles to recover his breathing, neon spots shimmering in his eyes. Eventually Brendol gets sick of his stalling and hauls him up by the forearm, forcing him to stand on shaky feet.

“You’re going to write a letter to admissions,” Brendol orders, stocky fingers tapping against his son’s cheek, “and if that doesn’t work, then you better hope Edinburgh takes your sorry hide.”

Armitage nods, biting at the beginnings of a sore on his inner lip.

“Of course father. I apologize.”

Brendol grunts, looking unhappy but mollified. He lets Armitage go, and though he loathes his father’s touch he wavers a little without it, struggling to stand upright. If Brendol notices his discomfort he ignores it, and Armitage stumbles out of the study, the abrupt slam of the door reverberating into his spine.

For a moment vertigo tilts on his vision, before he blinks rapidly and pulls it together.

Armitage worries his brow, trying to breathe evenly through the pain. He hates that his limbs tremble, shook by the fall and his father’s anger. He’s always been more slender than the other boys, uninterested in spending hours in the gym trying to bulk up and show off. Now he resents himself a little bit for that, as maybe if he played a team sport with any kind of skill he would’ve gotten a full ride to the university of his choice, rather than face rejection after rejection from schools overseas.

He doesn’t even _want_ to go abroad but his father had insisted. The only domestic campus Armitage had applied to was UCLA—in secret, paying the fee out of his own pocket.

His father despises public universities in the States. Armitage is still waiting to receive his admissions letter from them.

He rubs his hands over his face, willing breath into his trembling lungs as he tries to move down the hall towards his room, unwilling to linger outside his father’s study lest Brendol emerges with some fresh barbs. His palms burn from the study’s rug, the smell of antique dust and rubbed flesh stinging in his nose.

His chest still throbs, each impacted rib feeling like a needle of pain. Armitage tries not to cry or make much noise at all as he limps through the bedroom door and pushes it closed behind him.

All he wants to do is lie down on the bed and bury his frustrated tears in the shroud of his pillow, but he has a book bag nearly bursting with the night’s homework and essays to prewrite. If he doesn’t get to it his father will only grow more upset, perhaps decide to punish him further—and Armitage can’t risk that.

He can’t risk losing his date.

* * *

The pain in his chest doesn’t go away by the next day. In fact, it almost feels _worse_ , so bad that when Armitage gets out of bed his legs falter beneath him and he almost falls. Thankfully he manages to grab the edge of his desk and pull himself up, arms shaking with the effort.

When he makes it to the bathroom and pulls uphis nightshirt Armitage can see the beginnings of a nasty bruise purpling on the right side of his ribs. It aches, but only truly _hurts_ when he inhales deeply, so Armitage tries to keep his breathing as shallow as he can as he prepares for the school day. He feels a little better once he pulls his favorite jumper on over the injury, though the rub of the book bag against his sternum occasionally agitates it.

Armitage considers going to the nurse once he arrives at school, but she’s bound to ask questions, and he isn’t sure he can think of a convincing excuse. And if she calls Brendol, then—then Armitage can kiss his date with Ben goodbye.

And he really just wants to kiss _Ben_.

Thankfully by the afternoon even the teachers act like they’re already on their weekend, and Armitage manages to skate by on sloppy coursework even as his chest throbs and disturbs his focus. He walks tenderly as soon as his last class lets out, eager to get home and prepare—take a warm shower, maybe pop some pain medication so he can properly enjoy the evening.

Ben approaches him as he organizes his book bag, all eager smiles and promises coyly whispered into Armitage’s ears. He laughs when the smaller teen grows redder than his hair, and reminds him to be ready by five.

As Armitage watches Ben go he closes his eyes and exhales, focusing past the pain, past any desire to reveal what’s going on.

It doesn’t matter how bad it hurts. He’s got a date with Ben, and he’s not going to miss it for anything.

* * *

Armitage tries to dress a little more casual whenever he and Ben have a chance to hang out outside of classes, and though he wants to look his best for their first date, he frets his ties and slacks won’t exactly fit the occasion. He’s already looked up the restaurant Ben offered to take him to, and it seems fairly low-key. A far cry from the composed gala his parents are attending tonight.

Eventually Armitage decides on a white button up and covers it with a grey sweater, letting the collar pop up from the neck. He combs his hair into a neat part, then messes up his bangs slightly over his forehead, tilting his chin as he judges himself in the mirror.

He slides a dark jacket about his shoulders, wincing slightly at the movement. His chest still hurts, but the butterflies in his stomach help him to ignore it. After all, Armitage is sure once he’s at the restaurant enjoying his date, he’ll forget all about the pain.

By the time he’s finished primping to his satisfaction his phone buzzes with a text from Ben, who has his own car and had chivalrously offered to take Armitage in lieu of the bus or his bicycle. He flushes when he looks at the text—at Ben’s ever-present, characteristic lack of punctuation and overuse of the thumbs up emoticon—and quickly strides out of his room towards the front door.

He walks quickly, as if expecting Brendol to pop out of the hall closet or behind one of the wilting ficus plants like a horror movie monster but he makes it and throws open the door to see an older, slightly beat up black Dodge Charger idling in the street outside his porch.

A rare smile—the kind that only Ben’s presence can draw out of him—brims over Armitage’s lips as he makes his way down the pathway leading to the small iron gate locking his house in. He tries to contain a bit of the childish excitement in his steps, not that he thinks Ben would mind much. He always looks amused whenever Armitage allows his more organic feelings to slip through.

“Hey.”

Ben leans over the central console of the car, looking a little tousled. Presumably he’s had the window down the entire drive, letting it blow his hair about him in a storm of dark, fluffy locks. The later afternoon light shining through the open driver’s seat window catches him a slight silhouette, delicately lighting the edges of Ben’s form like a total eclipse.

He’s absolutely _stunning_.

“Hey.” After a moment spent composing himself Armitage opens the door and slides into the seat, settling into the smell of leather and old smoke that tells him this might be a second-generation car. “I didn’t expect you to actually be on time.”

“Yeah? How many tardies do I get before you dump me?” Ben smirks as Armitage buckles himself in, sitting with his hands folded over his stomach.

“Dump you?” Armitage laughs softly, leaning back against the headrest, trying to ignore his nerves and the light pain that sparks with each breath. “Don’t you put the cart before the horse just yet.”

“Right. Date first, dumping later.”

The car shudders as Ben shifts the gear into drive, pulling away from the curb. A pair of golden dice hang from the rearview mirror, glinting slightly in the waning sunlight as they speed out of the quiet neighborhood and deeper into town.

Armitage steals a closer look at Ben as he moves to flick on the radio, tuning past some oldies until he lands on a more popular station. A black T-shirt stretches thinly over his pecs, tucking into a pair of dark-wash jeans that disappear beneath the driver’s-side dashboard. Armitage can’t see what kind of shoes he’s wearing but he notes the leather jacket thrown about Ben’s shoulders as they pull into the little strip mall.

It looks old, matching the car. The fabric smells slightly of sweat and dirt and has faded browner along the hems and creases, but oddly enough it suits Ben, with the wilder-than-usual hair and slight immature stubble on his chin. Armitage thinks to ask where he got it, but almost enjoys imagining his own origin more.

He’s really into this fresh, _thrilling_ look.

It kindles a fantasy he’s long held. As Armitage steps out of the car he imagines Ben coming in the night to whisk him away from his father—kicking down the heavy door of Brendol’s study with one dusty black boot, jacket flowing behind him like a prince’s cape and hair whipping like the wind in long, loose strands. Ben is strong enough that he could probably break his father’s nose in one punch, and Armitage smiles as he envisions the antique carpet laced with Brendol’s blood and fat tears.

It’s a nice dream.

But Ben taking his hand and walking him towards the restaurant’s entrance is just as nice, and more importantly— _real_. Armitage preens at the attention as Ben pulls him in close, even opening the door for him like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman.

Armitage looks around the cafe as Ben leads him inside and hails the hostess like an old friend. It’s a little tacky, far different from the fancy restaurants his father drags him to when he deigns to parade Armitage about to his colleagues. Pop art of famous celebrities in vibrant color palettes and old license plates dot the walls, giving the whole place an eclectic aura—but not exactly an unwelcome one. It’s like nothing Armitage has ever seen before, but he kind of likes it.

Like he kind of likes Ben.

They take a seat near one of the windows, Ben tugging him along towards what must be a favored spot. They slid into the booths, vinyl squeaking with their weight as they settle into place beneath a lampshade of soda bottles soldered together. Armitage folds his hands. The whole place smells like linoleum and bacon fat and beer, but thankfully he can still catch a whiff of Ben’s cologne from across the table.

The waitress takes their drink orders and slips two laminated menus into their hands. Armitage quirks his brow at the colorful pictures plastered all over, a little dizzied by the volume of options.

“The chicken tenders are good. Can’t go wrong with any of the burgers either.” Ben shrugs, folding his menu after a cursory glance. “Honestly, I like all the food here.”

“Of course you do. Garbage disposal,” Armitage teases, tracing his finger down the menu. Truthfully, he’s not that hungry, hasn’t been since the pain in his chest started, but he wants this to be a good, _normal_ date. After all, if it goes smoothly, maybe Ben’ll ask him out on another one.

When the waitress returns with their drinks Armitage orders the salmon burger with no avocado and the moment she leaves Ben—predictably—starts to make fun of him.

“I can’t with you. Avocado is the best.”

Armitage wrinkles his nose after taking a sip of his water.

“It’s _slimy_. I don’t know why restaurants insists on flaunting it in every dish.”

Ben snorts.

“Whatever. Sorry you have no taste.”

“Says the one who ordered a _Mr. Pibb_.”

“Hey Armie? Shut up,” Ben swirls his drink with a smirk. “Bet if they offered it, you’d be here ordering a _tea_.”

“Tea,” Armitage starts, “contains  _extremely_ beneficial antioxidants, _and_  it's pleasant enough to drink without the forty teaspoons of sugar.”

“But that’s why I’m so sweet. Maybe you should try it.”

“I can be sweet if I choose to,“ Armitage scoffs and tilts his head to the side, glancing out the window, “you’ll just have to work hard to _earn_ it, Ben Solo.”

The skies streak with sunset colors, pretty pinks and oranges above the buildings and telephone poles across the street. Armitage zones out for a moment, enjoying the sight, before realizing Ben’s staring at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just—man. I’m a lucky guy.” Ben smiles over the edge of the bell-shaped soda glass, his eyes glimmering like he has a secret. “Today’s been a real good day. Real damn good.”

“Oh?” Armitage rests his chin in his hand, eager. “How so?”

“Well for one, this. You know how long I’ve been dying to ask you out.”

“Well, I’ve only know _about it_ for a few days.” Armitage raises his eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“It’s the most important thing. But no, it’s not all.” Ben sits up and shifts his weight, beaming brighter. “I got in.”

There’s little need to elaborate further—this time of year, every senior has one thing and one thing alone hanging over their heads. Armitage leans forward, curious.

“Where?”

“Let’s just say I’m about to Bruin my life.”

Armitage’s eyes widen.

“You’re kidding. Really?”

Ben nods, still grinning. “Yep. Mom’s ecstatic. Dad still thinks I should take a year off before I commit, but…I don’t even know what I’d do with myself.”

“I…working?” Armitage murmurs, still processing Ben’s announcement. “Or traveling. Trek across Europe, and such. Sow some wild oats.”

“And be away from you? Count me out.” Ben sucks up the last of his soda, placing at the edge of the table for a refill. “Though if you end up going to one of those fancy abroad schools, I might have to follow you.”

Armitage bites his tongue, putting the flimsy envelope from yesterday far from his mind. But suddenly his recent rejections sting less, as one beacon of hope still keeps alive. If Ben’s received his letter from UCLA’s admissions certainly his isn’t far behind.

Brendol would mock him for applying to a university in order to chase a boy, but in all fairness that’s not the _only_ reason Armitage did it. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t entertained fantasies about what going to college with Ben might be like. How many more dates they might have, in a space where Armitage is able to properly let loose without his father’s looming hand.

His heart beats wildly in his chest at the prospect—a little too hard, because he ends up wincing, hand fisting tightly beneath the table. _Damn it_.

Ben turns briefly to address the waitress as she refills his glass, so Armitage takes the moment to try to push his hurt away.

He takes a deep breath, deeper then any he’s tried all day, but as his shoulders rise with the inhale an even sharper ache suddenly stabs into his chest. Armitage coughs harshly as he fails to hold in the breath, his hand pressing over the locus of pain in his ribs.

Ben looks back towards him at the noise, smile faltering in concern. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing against the back of Armitage’s hand. Such a gesture would send sparks of excitement up his arm if the pain wasn’t swelling to the point of unbearable inside him. 

“Hey, what’s up? Choking on water?”

“No, I—I don’t feel so good,” Armitage admits with a moan, trying to push himself up from the booth. He’s embarrassed to admit to his hurt but he can’t help it, his chest feels like it’s caught in he jaws of a steel trap and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

Maybe if he goes to the bathroom for a few minutes he’ll be able to fix this, feel better and get back to his date—

Ben’s glass clatters down and he rises the moment Armitage falters, legs collapsing underneath him for the second time today. As he lurches forward Ben lunges out of the booth, half-catching him as Armitage falls to one knee on the checkerboard floor. The sudden movement shakes the pain in his chest to white-hot agony, and a sob strains between his lips. He clenches his fist and tries to breathe but his lungs won’t obey him, like they’re plastered uselessly against his throbbing ribs instead of expanding like they should.

He feels Ben’s hands grab him, one supporting his back as the other holds his wrist. Armitage can tell he’s trying to talk to him but without air coming into his lungs he can’t respond, can’t do anything other than gape and cough and cry.

Over the sudden rushing in his ears he can hear Ben call for help, his voice the only comfort Armitage can cling to as his vision starts to bleed. His chest hitches erratically, and as he scrunches his eyes closed he can feel warm tears springing up.

Ben has never seen him cry, but Armitage can’t hold it back. It feels like he’s dying.

 _No_. _No, no no._ He _can’t_ be dying. He can’t.

Not when he hasn’t even graduated yet. Not when he doesn’t know whether he got into UCLA. Not while Brendol still has control over him. Not while Ben doesn’t know just how deeply Armitage loves him.

“B-Be—“ He musters, gripping the front of the other boy’s shirt, but when he tries to open his eyes and see Ben’s perfect face one more time, everything swims and sparks and Armitage tips forward, blacking out completely.

* * *

The first thing Armitage hears is the sound of his own breathing.

It’s reedy, and slightly stifled, but it’s enough to ground him back in the waking world. His eyelids twitch as he struggles to open them, clinical white coming into view above him.

Armitage’s chest still stings a little as he breathes, but at least he still _can_ breathe, without the viselike tightening in his ribs. He furrows his brow weakly at the odd pressure and moisture over his mouth, and when he lifts his hand he finds hard plastic beneath his fingers rather than skin.

 _Oxygen mask_. His brain dimly supplies as his vision clears, allowing him to look around the room. Through the white slats of the window shade he can’t see much, only the glowing orange street lamps dotting another of the hospital’s structures. It must be late, but there’s no clock in his room. He’s not sure he’d even want to know how late it must be if there was.

As Armitage looks down at himself he realizes there’s more than just a thin hospital blanket and papery gown shrouding his body. Something heavy and dark lies across his shoulders, protecting him from the cool, circulating air of the room. It’s odd, but it helps him feel safer as he struggles to figure out what’s happened to him.

Armitage turns his nose into the collar, inhaling the musk of smoke and leather and—beneath it all—the undeniable smell of _Ben_.

The door suddenly slides open, drawing Armitage’s attention as a voice filters into the room. He sees that Ben’s on the phone, but he hangs up and pockets it the moment he notices Armitage looking at him. He rushes over to the chair pushed out from the hospital bed, scraping it in close.

“Fuck. You’re awake.” Ben’s hair looks somehow messier than before, as if he’s run his hand through it a dozen times. “Thank god.”

“Who were you talking to?” Armitage rasps, suddenly horrified that Ben’s called his father.

“I…just mom and dad. They worried about me when I didn’t get home.” Ben carefully lifts Armitage's hand, lacing their fingers together. “But I didn’t want to leave.”

Armitage’s heart skips a beat, but then he notes the reddened bags under Ben’s eyes, the tension in his expression. He remembers that he’s caused this, caused Ben to stress so much on a night that should’ve been perfect.

His lip trembles, emotion clawing up his throat.

“What’s up?” Ben leans in closer. “I can get the nurse. You hurting?”

Armitage is, but that’s not the point.

“I ruined our date,” he sniffles, face falling in misery. Surely Ben resents him now, for screwing over what could’ve been something lovely. After all, no one wants to spend their Friday night in a hospital.

“Armie, you had two broken ribs and a punctured lung.” Ben frowns, eyes dark. “I’d rather have you taken care of here than. You know. Dead.”

Armitage looks away and instead picks up the collar of his hospital gown, craning his neck to look down the length of his body. White bandages swath over the lower part of his chest, taped over the spot where he’d smacked his ribs against his father’s desk. He can’t see any of the bruising he remembers from this morning, but it’s surely still there. Probably looks a sight worse for the wear, too.

 _Broken Ribs. Punctured Lung. Dead_. Armitage can’t quite grasp the full implications of his injuries yet, but he understands enough that it hadn’t been good. He’d almost died.

Brendol had almost killed him.

Armitage’s eyes burn with tears as anger and hopelessness course through him—the body laden with years of abuse, finally broken by one almost insignificant push.

He can’t imagine Brendol would care much if his son had never come home.

Armitage weakly scrubs his wrist over his eyes, ashamed Ben has seen him cry _twice_ today. Lord, Ben shouldn’t even _be_ here, he should be home with his parents that care for him despite their problems, celebrating his acceptance to university. He shouldn’t be here trying to console Armitage, sacrificing his own happiness to shoulder some of this wicked burden.

And yet he is, and despite his shame Armitage can’t bear to ask him to leave.

“The nurse…he told me. Like.” Ben starts as he squeezes his hand, clearly struggling to keep his words even with his obvious anger. “If you want to…talk to someone about what happened? They can. Do that for you.”

Armitage inhales thinly, medical tape pulling at the skin of his chest. Despite his own resentment—despite the fact that his father had nearly _killed_ him—the thought of telling anybody about what he’s endured instinctively fills him with dread.

It just seems so insurmountable—like a steep incline strewn with unstable rocks, separating him from a glowing future _without_ Brendol in it. His mind can’t determine a clear path through, and he’s not sure if he’ll make it out without further hurts, both inside and out.

But perhaps with Ben staying by his side, keeping him stabilized and safe, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Armitage squeezes the other boy’s hand, finding comfort in its size and strength, in its place intertwined with his.

“Maybe,” he whispers. “Later.”

Ben nods.

“Yeah. Later. That’s okay.” His thumb rubs over the back of Armitage’s hand. “Is there anything I can do for you now? Hospital food isn’t exactly romantic, but if you’re hungry I can get you something.”

Armitage should be hungry, logically, as he hasn’t eaten anything apart from a protein bar in the afternoon. However, there’s something he needs even more than food right now—almost more than he needs to breathe. 

“I…I want you close to me.”

Ben can’t rest his head on Armitage’s chest, no matter how badly either of them might want it, so he scoots his chair in and lies his head against the medical pillow, getting as close as he can. Armitage threads his fingers through Ben’s hair, feeling the remaining product in it start to give way to gentle, silky waves.

It’s surprisingly simple to forget about all that might come to pass with Ben resting up against him, breath starting to even out under Armitage’s gentle fingers as they stroke against his scalp. Even with the world weighing heavier on his mind than ever before Armitage manages to relax thanks to Ben’s presence, daring to plant one kiss atop the crown of his hair before he too slips into peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> I like having my favs attend my alma mater, hah. 
> 
> Just imagine Ben and Armie go to college together and get married while Brendol rots in jail. Hooray!
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


End file.
